Page 32 of The Highland Heist
“Exactly like inThe Mystery of Blackwood Hall!“ Grace offered, nodding toward Detective Johnson as if he might know the reference. “Although, in that case, it was the butler who—”
Frederick’s pointed cough cut her off.
Grace clamped her mouth shut. Oh, right. Clearly, Detective Johnson wasn’t the type to indulge in fictional whodunits. He probably read biographies. Or Melville.
“What appears to be of note here, Detective,” Frederick continued, “is that I was attacked while Lady Astley was speaking with her sister, which would suggest Mrs. Dixon is not the one who attacked me.”
“And Lillias faints at the sight of blood,” Grace added helpfully. “It’s rather unlikely she’d kill Tony, let alone stage his body so … theatrically. Could someone have moved him to implicate her?”
“Or,” Johnson interjected, his gaze narrowing, “as you suggested earlier, she has an accomplice.” He paused, studying them as if trying to gauge their trustworthiness. Beside him, Officer Todd lit a cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke with the air of a man deeply unimpressed.
“What can you tell me about Mr. Dixon?” Johnson asked finally, his focus shifting to Grace.
“Well,” Grace began, straightening. “His father was a friend of ours. He served as the gardener at Rutledge House, our family estate. Tony lived in the gardener’s cottage until about a year ago, when he transitioned to banking. As far as I knew, he was good-natured and kind, especially to me.”
“And your sister chose to marry a banker?” The detective tipped his head a little, the glint in his eyes making Grace feel a little nervous. “After having lived in the affluence of your father’s home?”
Grace glanced at Frederick for reassurance and found him nodding. Oh, how she loathed retelling this story. But the truth was unavoidable. She recounted overhearing Tony and Lillias’ dalliance at Whitlock, Lillias’ confession, Grace’s confrontation, and the ultimate elopement.
As she spoke, Detective Johnson tilted his head so far to the right at one point that he resembled a curious owl. Officer Todd, who had taken exactly one drag from his cigarette, let it dangle forgotten in his hand.
After a pause much longer than expected, the detective responded. “It seems,” he began carefully, “both your sister and Mr. Dixon have a pattern of secrecy and reckless decisions. His gambling only reinforces that. Were you aware of it?”
“No more than you, Detective.” Frederick shook his head. “We arrived in America yesterday and in Harrington this morning.”
“And Lillias mentioned nothing about it in her letters,” Grace added.
“Just this morning? Yes, I recall it now.” Detective Johnson rose, and Grace and Frederick followed. Well, Grace followed; Frederick wavered before steadying himself with Grace giving a bit of support.
“I believe we’ve imposed on you long enough, Lord Astley. You’re clearly in need of rest after today’s events.” Johnson moved to the study door but paused, turning with a heavy glance. “However, I must place your sister under house arrest. Her history and recent actions don’t inspire confidence in her innocence.”
Grace stiffened, holding her tongue from defending her sister. Of course Detective Johnson was right. Her sister did look guilty. In almost every way except physical ability. But in motive? Planning? Ingenuity?
Her heart sank. Yes.
They followed the detective and Todd to the front door, where Johnson paused to look back at them. “I have a few inquiries to make tomorrow and will visit Miss Steen, as planned, but I advise the two of you to stay alert.” His gaze landed on Grace. “I’ll double the patrols in case your assailant returns.”
“Thank you, sir.” Frederick closed the door behind them and turned to Grace, a weary smile half formed. “I have high hopes that the dramatics are at an end for the evening.”
Grace stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Frederick’s waist and pressing her head into the crook of his neck, as though sheer proximity could infuse him with the strength he’d expended that day. “I think we’d both benefit from a decent night’s sleep after such a day.”
His arms circled her, drawing her deeper into his embrace. He rested his chin against the crown of her head, exhaling heavily. “Indeed.”
She tugged him toward the staircase, noting the slight drag in his step. His usually assured gait had given way to weariness, likely from a potent mix of exhaustion and the earlier attack. “Especially you.”
Frederick paused mid-step, flashing her a sleepily amused grin. “Now whatever could you mean, my lady?”
How she loved him! And levity certainly seemed a better choice at the moment than more brain work.
“Oh, just that you’ve had a rather spectacular day of heroism and deserve some much-needed rest to protect that sharp wit of yours.”
He chuckled, allowing her to guide him up another step. His weight leaned on her ever so slightly, a subtle reminder that he trusted her implicitly. That he believed in her.
All this while, she’d accepted his part as protecting her, of being the wiser and cleverer of the two of them. Perhaps for the first time, she realized he also relied on her. Not in some grand, sweeping way, but in the small things—her perspective, her thoughts, her steadiness.
But even today, Frederick had shown in small ways his belief in her abilities. In her being his equal. He considered her thoughts, allowed her to drive, looked to her for clarity.
It was a jarring thought, one at odds with how she’d been feeling since her conversation with Lillias. Her sister had always loomed large in her life, both as a source of admiration and insecurity. But in comparison to Frederick—his unwavering belief in her, the quiet way he invited her to be his equal—Lillias’ endless criticisms and coldness felt brittle and irrelevant. How odd, to have lived an entire life with someone and only to realize how broken the relationship was when given a healthy comparison.
